[Kuzco cradles his arm to his chest and rubs it as if it's been wounded. Which it probably has. Look at those limp noodles. He doesn't seem particularly appeased by the answer, either, but is accepting it enough not to start screaming--which is a good sign.]

Uh, the Kuzconian Empire, where else?

[The name says it all, baby.]

Why should I know anything beyond that? If it's not my empire, I don't care.

[Milo was right about it being Incan, of course, but Kuzco was never much one for learning. They probably didn't even have the same names for the region back then.

He gives Milo a judgmental once over, as if he's looking at him for the first time.]

And where, exactly, are you supposed to be from?

[Besides the bottom of a dirty hamper. Wherever Milo hails from, Kuzco's sure to be unimpressed.]